


Remember Me

by BiJane



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Books, Gen, Heaven Sent, Immortality, Memory Loss, Post-Episode: s10e12 Heaven Sent, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An abandoned TARDIS on a desolate world: and inside, a library full of books. <br/>With an infinite life and a finite memory, Clara had to keep track somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> Because something needed to be written. I think everyone wants the adventures of Clara and Me: but in lieu of that, have a story set after all that would have happened.

The TARDIS was kind: sympathetic, and sensitive. She might not always be able to show it clearly, but she know what she was doing. She took him where he needed to go, and never took him to a place he couldn’t handle.

It was close: sometimes it was so close, but she saw the best of all possible paths. Even if there was interference, more often than not; Time Lords, Daleks, most creatures with time travel could disrupt her planning.

Then again, what was life without a little randomness?

He flicked a lever, and they went spiralling together through the time vortex. Sometimes he felt alone, but he knew he wasn’t: not really.

And she waited. She could feel him, as he recovered, and as he learned to cope with the gaps in his memory. He’d been though amnesia before, and the feverish need to _know_ passed.

So she waited, inasmuch as anything could be called waiting, from her post-linear perspective on time. And when he was ready, she took him to the place she most wanted to go.

A diner on a world that had never known life: locked doors, and boarded-up windows. There were signs of attempts forced entries, and some graffiti tags: vandals had just as much access to space travel as anyone, and this was a mystery.

No one had made it inside. No one could. As soon as the Doctor set foot on that world, he could feel something was different, and he could feel the TARDIS.

She was sympathetic: to the plight of her own kind especially.

It was old. Hundreds, thousands, millions: maybe billions of years. Discarded, and left behind. Its last occupant had left it here, no doubt attracted by some ship or other. The diner stood as a memorial; no doubt the previous rider had known that he would find it.

Uncertainly, the Doctor approached. He pressed a hand to the door, softly so softly. It was cool. Quiet.

He tried the door; it remained firmly locked. A pause.

But it was a TARDIS. He could feel it. He could feel the potential just beyond those doors, he could sense the power.

He entered his own TARDIS: the blue police box the brightest thing on the surface of the dry and empty world. A moment later, he walked out: he’d turned on communications, let the TARDIS reach out. Commune.

After a moment, the diner’s door clicked open. As the Doctor pushed it, he could feel it grow warm.

No longer alone: a spark of life. And as he passed through the doors, a spark of light.

He stood in the console room. There was no faux diner anymore; no counter nor seats. Just a console, and the dome-shape of the room. 

Something in the back of his mind prickled. There was something familiar about it: the diner, the TARDIS. It looked different now, though: ancient, and closed down. It’d take him a moment to recognize it.

But he could explore.

The console room seemed to be set to the default design: large white roundels on the wall, and a blocky structure, ready to be set to any more appealing appearance. As soon as he passed into more of the strangers’ TARDIS however, he saw more.

The walls lit up. Not all of them, just enough; one route was illuminated for him. Never one to turn down an invitation, the Doctor followed.  

Some of the architecture was familiar. Some walls were decorated with coral, some with steampunk bronze. He glimpsed into some rooms; some looked made of wood, some of earth, some in the style of 21st century Earth.

There was a mix. It could have been used for navigation: the Doctor had considered doing that to his own TARDIS, designing the corridors so that they weren’t all identical. He’d never gotten around to it.

It looked as though there was a more personal touch. This wasn’t just a vehicle: it was a home, for whoever had owned it.

He passed through spiralling passageways, up a flight of stairs, and down a ladder. He followed the lit path, feeling the circuitousness of the route.

He wasn’t just being taken somewhere: he was being shown the TARDIS. Whoever had left the time machine, they’d expected him.

It couldn’t have much power left. A handful of lights still flickered: maybe that was why it had been so unceremoniously discarded. There wasn’t enough energy for any other journey.

He wandered on. There was a garden, the dimensionally displaced roof giving the illusion of open fields and sky. There was a swimming pool, long dried up. He passed bedrooms, more than he could count.

Were these the archives? Not how the TARDIS itself was, but rather how it once was: all the rooms of the people who’d lived in this TARDIS?

There were single beds: some Spartan in design, some clearly meant to pamper. After a while of walking, he passed several double beds: and then his journey came to an end.

The lights of the corridors behind him flickered out, and above him a chandelier burst into illumination. It flashed erratically for a few seconds, before turning steady, giving a strong light.

It was all too clear that the chandelier was just decoration, however. There were no shadows cast by it: the TARDIS provided its own light.

And he was in a library.

Bookcases, taller than he: rows and rows of them for as long as he could see. They were all around him, arranged in a neat grid, extending for as far as the TARDIS could. Book after book, each neatly bound, and each with a name and number scrawled on the spine.

At least, that was the case for the bookcases on his left. He could see the one labelled ‘1’ there. On the never-ending line of books on his right, the author had apparently given up.

He didn’t blame them. The numbers must have become huge.

The Doctor moved left. He was in the corner of the room; and conveniently a table and chair were provided. Curiously, he picked up the book on the top left of the corner-shelf. _Clara Oswald 1_.

He sat. He rested his arms on the table, and he flicked the book open. Mystified, he began to read.

* * *

 

_Ashildr, or Me, or whatever she wants to be called whenever you are said I should start writing these. I, you, don’t age any more, we’re going to have the same problem. An infinite life and a finite memory._

_Your name is Clara Oswald. You used to travel with the Doctor, before he forgot you. Then you stole a TARDIS, and ran away._

_Someday you need to go back to Gallifrey. When you do, you’ll die. It’s already happened, really. You checked. You can check again. You were extracted before your last heartbeat. That’s why you don’t have a pulse. Return there, near the end of the universe, and you’ll be placed back._

_That’s where you’re going, just the long way around. Have fun, sightsee. I wonder what I’ll have seen by the time I’m the you that’s reading this. I wonder what I’ll have forgotten._

_But if you want to know who you were, and how this all started, keep reading._

_It began on Earth, and a woman who gave you an impossible phone number._

* * *

 

The Doctor shifted, and stretched out his legs unconsciously. He read to the final page, never looking up, never being distracted in the slightest.

Clara. He knew that name: the woman he’d forgotten. Now he had the full explanation. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

* * *

 

_And that raven is what will kill you, one day. I don’t think it’s a bad way to die; you tried to save someone. That’s all that matters, in the end. I can’t imagine doing anything differently._

_But anyway, that’s you. Clara Oswald. That’s us._

_Keep on running, you clever girl, and remember me._

* * *

 

The Doctor stared at the last page for a time. A droplet of water fell to the old page; he looked up, before feeling the moisture on his cheek.

He wiped his eye. Stared: silent. Someone he’d never known, and yet…

He put the first book back. Then, after a moment’s thought, lifted up _Clara 2_.

* * *

 

_It’s strange. Doing this without him will take some getting used to: it’s not all different though. Sightseeing turns into trouble, which turns into running away from a sky-scraper sized robot piloted by a paint-scraper sized leech._

_We had fun though, even before the robot. The planet had rings, like Saturn, and short days. Every hour or so it was night, and then the Sun came up again, casting ridiculously beautiful shadows over the land._

_There was a space elevator that offered guided tours of the rings, but they wanted money. Ashildr says she heard rumours about where she could buy psychic paper, from back when she was mayor of the trap street. That’s our next stop. There’s no fun to this travelling if we can’t get to the best places._

_Even just standing on the ground was beautiful. It’s amazing how long you can travel, and still find a sunrise breath-taking._

_Of course, then we passed a scam artist challenging passer- by to play a rigged game, and Ashildr couldn’t resist showing off. When you live to the end of the universe, you pick up a lot: she knew the game, and how to cheat in turn._

_We ended up running, not long after that. It’s weird: I didn’t get out of breath. I don’t need to breathe, any more._

_Strange to think: I could run forever._

* * *

 

He kept reading until that book, too, was finished. After replacing it on the shelf, the Doctor paused. He looked across, and down; he’d barely started the first shelf, and there were several on this bookcase alone.

He couldn’t count how many bookcases there were; and this room seemed to just be Clara’s. There might be a whole other library for Ashildr’s books, if they were here.

He could spend a lifetime in here, doing nothing but reading and learning. And part of him wanted to. Though he couldn’t remember Clara, the gaps in his mind ached.

The Doctor walked out. The next line of bookcases, down to the unseen final wall. Then the next. He started to walk down the passage between the lines of bookcases, occasionally wandering across between two parallel shelves.

He picked a book at random. It wasn’t numbered: just _Clara_.

* * *

 

_We went diving again today. Me always acts annoyed that I don’t need to hold my breath to go under, but she’s not too shabby. Apparently lung capacity is one of those things that can be trained up over an immortal life._

_I know I’ve been to the planet before, but I can’t remember when. Three moons, two suns, and crystal clear water with a layer of sediment on the surface so that you don’t know it’s there until you fall in._

_It’s a little hard to swim in: it takes more to keep yourself up, than it does on Earth. At least I think so, I haven’t been back there in a while. I’ll ask Me if we can go back._

_There are fish down there. I went as low as I could, lower than Me, and chased a few of them around. They’re small things, and gentle._

_My favourite was an electric blue. It had a tail split into four parts, a little like a fluttering propeller, and a dark red stripe down the middle. It seemed to glow while it swam._

_I don’t know why it stood out so much. I think it was just different. You see so much, and even if you don’t remember it, the feelings remain._

* * *

 

He didn’t finish that book. He closed it, carried on through the shelves, and again picked up another at random, opening it in the middle.

* * *

 

_I don’t think I’d seen anything like it. The whole world’s face was a clock, hands turning in reaction to how it faced the Sun. Apparently it had been done as a curiosity._

_It’s amazing to look at what people will do: even more so to realize that they’re capable of it. We watched it tick and tick away._

_That’s one advantage of having a diner as part of your TARDIS. We could sit out front, with snacks, and look out the windows. Green light on grey rock, clear as anything._

_Each noon and midnight the whole planet lit up. Well, almost all of it: there were patches that seemed to work inconsistently. Sometimes they flared up for no reason. The world has no atmosphere, so I don’t think it was clouds._

_We had fun pointing out shapes, and imagining what the outlines could be._

* * *

 

_I forgot the Doctor. It was only when I skimmed my first journal that I realized that. He’d been such a huge part of my life, and I have no idea who that man is._

_Me says it’s happened to her, a few times. She has a few volumes kept away, for reference. There are only a few people you have to worry about running into multiple times, in our lives._

_Have we had this conversation before? Have I written this before? It’s kinda scary to think about. I think it’s worth it though._

_Jack. River. The Doctor. Susan. Missy. The Sisterhood. There aren’t many people I need to keep in my mind. Maybe I could keep flashcards by my bed._

_\- -  -_

_It’s been a day. Me agreed to take me to see him: it’s usually not hard to work out where he’ll show up. I stood just out of sight._

_He looked like a grumpy magician. I wish I recognized that face._

* * *

 

_You’d think people would know not to transport dangerous psychic monsters on passenger liners. My memory is terrible, and even I could tell you that for sure._

_It was some money-saving measure. Of course, that did mean we ended up on a luxury space liner, that promised a tour of some of the more spectacular stellar systems, with passengers that felt the anger of the creature and started lashing out on behalf of it._

_It didn’t have any real control: there was just chaos. The captain was looking all shifty when it began, so it wasn’t too hard to know to blame him. We just had to question him for a while, and act like we owned the place, before he took is below decks._

_We couldn’t use the psychic paper. It blacked out while we were close to the creature. It’s still not working. Might have overloaded. I doubt it’s still in warranty._

_I’ll say this for the universe. Even its monsters have their beauty. It was from a xenophobic species: their telepathy only seems to work on negative impulses, both transmitting and receiving. It evolved as an early warning system, but it went out of control._

_It nearly wiped out a human colony. Now they’re transporting it, to try to find a cure of sorts: a treatment to improve its telepathic abilities, and remove the rampant hatred. Good luck to them._

_It was huge, and space-dwelling, a cross between a pig and a slug. That doesn’t sound beautiful does it?_

_There was something special there. I could feel it. The tiny eyes loathed everything, and the giant body pulsated and looked kinda gross, but something that huge was alive, and intelligent, and I could feel it in my head._

_Does the wonder ever go away?_

* * *

 

_We had one of our few relaxing days. I feel like I could do this forever. It’s the one advantage to having a TARDIS stuck permanently as a diner. We landed out in Nevada, and waited. Entertained a few passers-by._

_I know I should be going back to Gallifrey, or at least thinking about it. But I’m not aging: this library proves that. I can just keep on living, frozen in time, with the promise that I could return being all time needs to stay together._

_It’s strange, how memory works. Facts, faces, people: they all fade away. Knowledge, though, doesn’t. Even if I can’t recall the details, my muscles know what to do._

_By now, Me and me can probably fly the TARDIS better than the Doctor. From what I’ve read in my old journals, that probably isn’t hard. We actually have a manual._

_I’ve been learning about time, too. It’s not fragile: how could it be? My death has to be fixed, because my being here relies on it occurring. That doesn’t mean it can’t be played with._

_There’s a theory that the universe will wear away: space, and time too. We immortals can keep on going, and keep travelling, until there’s no universe that needs to be maintained._

_Keep running. Keep going._

_At least I know what it is I’m running from._

* * *

 

_We managed to fix the chameleon circuit: again, apparently, judging by the patchwork in the mechanism. It really is a very unreliable system, if we’ve had to do this several times._

_It was Me’s idea to use it. There was a heist on some forest-world that had baffled investigators for centuries. We stole the artefact, and turned our TARDIS into an exact replica, in the same spot._

_Then we just had to wait. We kept the diner interior, for old times’ sake. The windows were view-screens._

_I like spending time with Me. She calls it egomania; even with incomplete memories I’m tired of that quip. Still, if you have an immortal life to spend with someone, it needs to be someone whose presence you like._

_I don’t know if I’d choose anyone over her. Then again, I don’t know those who I once might have chosen._

_Anyway, the mystery. Supposedly the security system is first class: the atmosphere doesn’t allow for most forms of teleportation. Even the TARDIS only got in by materializing at some point in the orbit of the world, and waiting for the world to catch up. As a mote of dust, it wasn’t hard to navigate._

_Then there are security systems. Life sensors, psychic sensors, heat sensors, movement sensors: it’s a holy relic, an ancient remnant that the locals still held in high esteem after their society developed._

_Of course, the thing about holy relics is that gods sometimes want them back. We were sitting around, trading guesses for how the heist was pulled off, when the view beyond the windows changed._

_According to the scanners, something had paused time for us, and taken us out. That was one way past security. When I saw one of the aliens, I checked my reference file, of all those I’ve encountered. It wasn’t familiar._

_As it turned out, the relic was part of a ship. It had been torn away, and crashed on the world long ago: but their ships were like puzzles. Presumably it could travel through time as well as space, and dimensions. Without every piece, there was some geometrical problem though, and their drives didn’t work._

_They didn’t steal the relic: technically it was always theirs. There was an awkward moment when we had to get out of the TARDIS and return the actual ship-part, before our TARDIS was plugged in, but at least it ended well._

_Not every alien wants to end the world, apparently. We just don’t seem to meet many of that type._

* * *

 

_The planet Dulvia has wonderful sporting events. Once a year, the whole world takes part in a ritual, open to any visitors. It’s like the Olympics on a huge scale._

_Everyone who wants it gets a free nanotech treatment, bringing us all to the same level of physical fitness: then it’s a matter of pure skill. No one has the energy to partake of every event, but the advantage of a time machine is that we can skip ahead to the next year, without needing to wait._

_My favourite was the cross-dimension marathon. Two courses had been set up, and overlaid in the same space, and every runner was given a device that let them switch from one course to the other, relative position intact._

_It was impossible to complete the course in just one dimension. There were walls, and crowds: the trick was to spot when to switch, and to switch across, getting past the flood of runners, and avoiding and obstacles on that side._

_Me liked a less exhausting game. It was a mix of archery and tennis: we saw a few injuries there, but for the most part it was safe. The game was competitive: one player had to fire a bow to a target behind the other player, while that other player held a bullseye in each hand, and needed to catch the arrow._

_Points were awarded depending on how close to the centre the shot was, and were awarded to the firing player if it hit the target on the wall, and if it hit the held-targets, it went to the one that held them._

_Then they’d switch roles. Me was much better at shooting than catching, but she managed an impressively high ranking. I did well too: not breathing can be quite an advantage._

* * *

 

_We saw the end of a nebula. We’ve seen them before, I know we have. I love to sit down and read my old diaries sometimes: Me and I have days dedicated to that. We sit together in the diner, and reminisce._

_Sometimes there’s an experience one of us wants to repeat: to regain the memory of. More often than not, we agree._

_We sat by the windows, on the stalls just by them, looking out. I’d programmed the TARDIS to slow time inside itself, barring emergencies: we watched thousands of years pass in just a few minutes._

_Celestial dust, artificially coloured by the window, forming intricate and amazing shapes, absurdly huge. We watched as some regions collapsed: condensed, before they formed small and blindingly bright stars._

_Stars were born, and planets. It amazed me that I could ever forget a sight like that, but I imagine I’ve thought that before._

_We visited some of those worlds, after. We’d seen them be formed from dust and gas, and then we walked on their surfaces. We needed spacesuits, but it was worth it._

* * *

 

_I saw the strangest thing. I supposed I only recognized it because we’d had a fairly recent trip back to Earth, and England: a blue police box, with a phone, on a world the other side of the galaxy to Earth._

_It was slightly familiar, but I don’t know why. I forget too much._

_I haven’t read my old diaries for a while. Maybe I should start at the beginning._

* * *

 

_I’m going to die. I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to that. It’s a shock whenever I forget; then I go back to read the first journal, and I’m reminded._

_I’ve been living on borrowed time for so long. The TARDIS records its first flight being several million years ago, subjectively. I don’t know if I was its first flight, or if any of our journeys artificially aged it, but that still feels like quite a number. Millions of years between my last two heartbeats._

_I don’t want to die: not while I’m still living. That, and I think Me likes having me around. She can’t have had much company, an immortal among mortals. I’m probably the first person she could actually get close to._

_God, how many times must I have written that?_

_I’ve been running from death for a few million years, I can keep running. I’m not scared: the more I think about it, the less scared I am. Still, that doesn’t mean I’ll seek it out._

_I’ll live until I’ve done all there is to do, and seen all there is to see. I’ll walk on the first planet, and on the last, and stand bathed in the light of the Big Bang, and the last flicker of reality._

_I’m not scared of dying, but I don’t want to give up the life I could have._

* * *

 

_Our vacation has lasted a couple of years. We always seem to come back to Earth: if our journals are anything to go by, Me and I have spent most of our lives here._

_So long as we keep the back room locked, our TARDIS makes as good a diner as it does time machine. It supplies us food, usually ready-cooked thought it can be fun to make our own, and our customers always leave happy._

_It’s nice to take a break. Most people have a few days or weeks off, but when you’re immortal, there’s nothing wrong with relaxing for a few years. There’s nothing to worry about, really._

_I mean sure, there’s the occasional horde of self-replication scorpion robots that crawl out from under a rock and threaten world domination, but at this stage apocalypses are more tedious than worrying._

* * *

 

Oh, Clara. The Doctor murmured to himself: at first he was fascinated, now he couldn’t help but smile.

He wished he could remember her. Then again, this was far better than nothing, and he had something he didn’t have: he knew the kind of person she was. She reminded him of himself, in a way.

Ageless, and brave, and good. Not cowardly, not cruel.

The Doctor wandered on, almost jumping when he saw a wall. It was close, too. Uncertainly, he turned on the spot; the place where he’d entered the room could no longer be seen.

How long had he wandered this library?

Part of him wanted to stay. He enjoyed a good book as much as anyone, and the size of this library promised to keep him entertained for centuries. Still, he also wanted to _know_.

He hated endings: but he also hated ignorance more. He’d reached the last line of bookcases: now he hurried down the passage between the last two lines, seeking out the last row. If there was any kind of structure, the answer of what happened to Clara would be there.

He only read a handful of the journals on his way.

* * *

 

_I designed myself a new room today. You get bored, waking up in the same four walls for more than a century. I know I’ve done it before, but whenever I look back through the archive I don’t feel any familiarity. Still, it feels like cheating to just reuse an old one._

_Even if I can’t remember doing it, I seem to be pretty good at using the TARDIS’ system to program new rooms. I based my new one on the world Me and I settled on, for a while. I liked living there._

* * *

 

_We had a new person journeying with us. My journals say we’ve picked up a few guests and friends before, but it still feels new._

_His name was Rigsy. He seemed shocked as anything to see me; I guess I must have known him. He gave me a hug, and I almost fell over from it. Me nearly hit him._

_It was an awkward introduction. He’d been to my funeral. Once we took him to the TARDIS, I let him read my first journal. It gave him his answers. I really should reread it more often._

_He didn’t stay long: a few months. That would be the problem with travelling with mortals. It’s always sad to see them go, but they don’t stay any longer than the blink of an eye._

_It was one of those times I was glad for my incomplete memory. I pity anyone who lives as long as I have, and has to remember it all._

* * *

 

The Doctor slowed, as he caught sight of the far corner. The last bookshelf in this great library. It was only half-filled: it ended at bird-head bookend, midway through the fourth shelf.

The books were the same as ever: bound journals, with a name on the spine, up until the very end. There, pressed between the last full journey and bookend, was something more akin to a pamphlet. Just three pages, not all of which were filled. The last seemed to be stapled at a later date.

There was a stool from the diner outside, brought in and set by the shelf. The Doctor sat on it and, uncertainly, pulled out the final pages.

* * *

 

_I don’t know when it started. I don’t think I even noticed, or if I could have. It was only when I went back to rereading that I noticed._

_I’m not enjoying this. Or rather, I am, as much as I can, but I don’t see the beauty any more. I can appreciate the sight, but it just doesn’t seem to be the same as what I used to see._

_I don’t remember any of it. I don’t know what I saw, or how it made me feel, not really; I just know that what I felt then seems so much more real than what I feel now._

_I think I’ve lived too long. I’ve read enough stories to know that immortality won’t always be a blessing. It hasn’t been a curse, not for me, but I’m starting to see why not everyone seeks it out._

_We’re not meant for forever. My memories attest to that, and now my heart does too._

_I don’t know how Me does this. She’s lived so much longer than me. Maybe it’s because she became immortal a different way: her mind stays refreshed, rather than fatigue. Maybe she just hasn’t noticed. Maybe she can bear it._

_I’m not sure I can, and I don’t want my last sight of the universe to be something I see no beauty in._

_Me and I talked, and we’ve agreed. I’m going back to Gallifrey, after one more journey. She wants to end this on a high: I don’t blame her._

_We’ve been together for longer than anyone lives, and sure, we’ve argued, shouted at one another, disagreed, fought: but there’s been so much more than that. I think I’ll miss her for the duration of my last heartbeat. She’ll have much longer than that to miss me._

_She’ll keep my library. I won’t need it, but I don’t want all my life to be lost. I leave it to the Doctor. He doesn’t know me anymore, but I’d like him too._

_\---_

_Me had always expected me to leave. She asked around when we were exploring, and asked for what people thought the most wondrous place in all the universe was. Almost everyone gave her a different answer._

_With a few more seasoned travellers however, several names came up. While I was writing, she piloted the TARDIS, and looked out through the doors. We’ve been to almost all those places, together, except for one, which she heard about on Earth. The curator of a museum I think, I didn’t ask for details._

_She chose it especially, for the last place I’d go to, before Gallifrey. She wanted something perfect, and perfect it was._

_A crystal tower, and the rush of the wind reverberated through it, and made it sing. The lap of waves below, sending an echo up through the spire. It was untouched; as old as any civilization._

_There used to be a whole field of them: singing towers, as far as the eye could see. Now there was just one: the oldest, and the grandest._

_No one knew who’d first built the towers. According to the earliest races, it predated even them. It would be easy for us to go back in time, and meet the builders, but we chose not to._

_I like a mystery: and it’s rare that the solution is as satisfying as the question. If I’m to die, I’ll do so unspoiled._

_But I felt awe. The singing tower was unlike anything I’d seen, beauty in every sense: I have the sound of it in my mind, even as I write this._

_I’m grateful to her. We saved worlds, and I lived lifetimes in the space of a heartbeat. I never thought I’d live this long, but it’s been worth it._

_She’s setting the coordinates now. Strange to think I’m so close. I’ve known I had to face the raven: known I couldn’t escape it, no matter how much I run._

_I’m not scared, and I have no regrets. I don’t think anyone leaves this life feeling completely fulfilled, but I can’t imagine being any closer._

_This TARDIS is Me’s now. I know she’ll forget me, as she always does. Nothing stays in our minds forever, we’re not meant to remember eternity. Still, I like to imagine her sitting in this library, picking up a book, and beginning to read._

_You never get to meet the same person twice, really. It’s a shame. The thrill of discovery, and of learning everything there is to know about them. I hope she enjoys our next meeting as much as I enjoyed our first._

_And one day this will be the Doctor’s library. I know enough to know that the Clara I once was would want that. Every time I crack open the early books, when he was still in my memory, I feel it all come rushing back._

_No faces, and no facts: just raw feeling. Joy, and terror, and glee: wild excitement, tinged with melancholy. He can’t remember me, and I can’t remember him anymore. It’s almost poetic._

_These books are my legacy. This library is how he stayed in my mind: I hope it allows me to stay in his._

* * *

 

The Doctor put the tear-stained page down. He could feel how hard it had been to write. He’d known people who’d walked to their deaths: some willingly, some less so. It was never easy.

There was one sheet left; penned in a different hand. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, and steeled himself.

People he didn’t know, and couldn’t remember, and yet both his hearts were aching.

* * *

 

_I remember you Clara. I’d never need to look at a book. It will take far more than time to make me forget you. I know your face, and your voice, and I know who you are._

_Doctor. It’s Me. Clara left long ago, and now this TARDIS is dying. I’ve done what I can, but I’ll outlive even her. I’ve saved as much of the matrix as I can, so all I’ll leave behind will be a shell._

_It’s empty, beyond a handful of instructions. It will let you in, it will guide you here, and it will transmit this library to your TARDIS. It’s yours now. I suspect you skipped straight to the end, but in the time it took you to walk here this room should have been sent from our TARDIS to yours._

_This library is yours now. Remember Clara. I hope to carry her memory with me forever, but in case I do not, that duty falls to you. Read these tomes, and know who she was, and the life she lived._

_There is one last thing for you. Clara recorded it before the Time Lords sent her back to Earth, for you, before I stole this TARDIS again. It should have been sent to you._

_You have almost all of Clara’s journals. I have some. They were both of ours, and they are private. All the texts in here, however, were written by her, and she wished you to have them. I have a copy of each, in a far more compact format. She favours the archaic style of a journal, however, as I used to._

_This is yours now, Doctor._

_Me_

* * *

 

Slowly, the Doctor stood up. He put the sheet back on the shelf, and turned on the spot. He was back in his TARDIS? He should have felt that, transportation was rarely subtle.

Then again, he’d been distracted. Enthralled. He turned around again, staring at the library.

His, now. Recollections of Clara: the one he’d forgotten. Once he’d been so eager to fill in the gaps in his memory. Still, he’d learned to cope; learned to control himself. There was no need to break his own rules.

That didn’t mean he’d turn down the chance to know who it was he’d forgotten: to know who’d affected him so that forgetting her was all that would keep things safe.

He had an inkling, from just the snippets he’d read. She was his perfect match: a foil and a mirror, all in one. Bravery, and self-possession, and confidence bordering on ego. The kind of person who savoured the good in the universe, and admired the beauty, and knew that to live too long was to become jaded: and who fought against that.

The Doctor began running. He reached the console room in less than a minute, recognizing his new location in his TARDIS quickly.

There was a flickering light; the sign of an incoming transmission.

He hesitated, then. He stood, hand outstretched, one curl of a finger all it would take to receive the message: and he paused.

Then, a click, and a hologram was projected from the console. He took a hurried few steps back, taking in the sight.

A woman: her hair to her shoulders, a grey jumper with a white shirt visible beneath. There was a smile on her face, but it wasn’t a happy one; at least not completely.

“Is this working?” she said, looking at someone unknown. “It is? Ok.”

She inhaled. Stiffened: steadied herself. She looked right at the Doctor’s eyes, and there was the unmistakable look of someone with everything to say, not knowing the words to even begin.

“Don’t you dare feel bad,” Clara said. “Don’t you dare try to do anything about this. I’ve lived- Oh, how I’ve lived, and it was good, and fun, and exciting, and a little bit scary, and _perfect_. I’ve loved, I’ve forgotten, I’ve remembered: I’ve run, and kept running, and I’ve turned around and faced whatever’s changing. I’ve done everything I could ever want to.”

A pause. An inhale. She closed her eyes, for just a moment.

“I missed you, Doctor. I know I used to, and even now… Now I miss what I once knew. There are a few things I regret, and not knowing- You changed my life, and I’m forever grateful for that. And life goes on, and on, and on, and I wouldn’t have any of this if not for…”

She closed her eyes; wiped one with a finger.

“The books, the journals, they’re yours. Please read them. You were so sad when you realized you’d forget me, and I hope it’s the right time now. I hope you’ll do what’s right. I’ve saved you, so many times. More than you know, more than I can remember: now I ask just one thing of you. Save me: save my memory. My records. That’s all I want from you, Doctor.”

He stared at her: stared at the image, so lifelike he wished it could be real. He recognized her face, of course: the waitress in the desert, soon after he’d lost his memories. Of course it had been her.

But it was good to finally put a face to the name: and a voice to the words he’d read. Clara Oswald.

“Be a Doctor,” Clara said. “Your promise. Keep it, for me. Be a Doctor, like I know you are. Don’t be cruel, don’t be cowardly. Don’t run from the pain, don’t fight loss: accept it, hold it in you, and move past it. I know how hard that can be, I’ve lost everything and lost even the memories of losing everything. I know loss, and I know it’s hard, and I know it ends.”

She never looked away from him, even as a tear curled down over her cheek. The Doctor barely noticed his own eye echoing hers.

“Don’t try to escape the loss,” Clara said. “You can’t. But do run: you were always so good at running. Keep running. Keep on going. Be the Doctor I wrote about. Stories are where memories go when they’re forgotten, and you have a truly amazing story Doctor. I only saved some of it, but it was enough.”

She paused. She tilted her head back, and breathed in. When she looked back at him, strain was visible; an attempt to keep composure, to finish her message.

Saying goodbye to the man she couldn’t remember. Knowing she cared, and wishing she could feel how much she cared, and wishing she could say _more_ , say everything that was whirling around in her mind, and say something informed by genuine memory rather than written reminders.

“Run,” Clara said. “Do that for me. Be a Doctor, and run: run you clever, clever boy. And remember me.”

The hologram turned her head, and flickered out just as she walked away.

The Doctor stood, and stared unmoving, for a long, long time. Then, slowly, he walked to the doors of his TARDIS, opened them, and looked outside.

The solitary diner stood, empty and alone, on the desolate world. He was alone, truly. Few came here.

The Doctor turned around, and walked back into his TARDIS. He walked through the corridors, and easily found the library, the room itself transported from the TARDIS that had been Clara’s and Me’s.

Books and shelves and bookcases and rows of bookcases. The chronicles of Clara’s life, made as a reminder: a memorial to lost times, and lost memories. How old were those books? How long had it taken for her to write them all?

The Doctor picked up the first again, and began to read.


End file.
